


Deceptive Cadence

by Mikauzoran



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrinette, Aged-Up (19 and 20), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Emotional Support, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Music school AU, Mutual Pining, Pianist Adrien Agreste, Pining, Romance, Violinist Marinette, adrienette - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikauzoran/pseuds/Mikauzoran
Summary: As Marinette struggles to find her expressive voice as a violinist, Adrien struggles not to develop feelings for her. When she comes over for help on a piece one evening, he has to admit to himself that he’s fallen in love.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 16
Kudos: 88





	Deceptive Cadence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [komorebirei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/komorebirei/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Broken Fugue: Solfège](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121214) by [komorebirei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/komorebirei/pseuds/komorebirei), [mireille (komorebirei)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/komorebirei/pseuds/mireille). 



> Hello everyone! My name is Mikau. For those of you I haven't met before, it's a pleasure to meet you. To those of you whom I have met before, thank you for coming back for more! Thank you all for taking a look at this piece. ^.^
> 
> Okay, all you need to know is that this takes place at the end of March. Marinette (nineteen) is a violinist, and Adrien (twenty) is a piano prodigy. They attend the same music academy.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story!
> 
> How This Happened:  
> So, this is basically a fanfic of a fanfic. ^.^; You can enjoy this piece without any knowledge of Mireille’s AU because this has absolutely nothing to do with the plot of her story, but I hope this will inspire you to go read her story because it is excellent, and, if you enjoy this, you’ll love her series.
> 
> This came about because I was really down and my uncle died at the beginning of the month (July 2020) and I didn’t feel like writing, so I decided to catch up on my friend Mireille’s Music AU. I got to the end and thought, “Huh. Well, that was wonderful, but I wish there were more.” Then I started thinking, “I know Mireille isn’t going to work on this for a while because she’s focusing on other projects, but maybe I could write something based on this universe as a gift for her like she’s done with my Luka and Adrien. I bet she would like that, and maybe some other people would read my work and go read her work because of it.” There’s a part of my brain telling me that this was a horrible idea because I’ve completely failed to characterize the characters how she does in her work, and this is probably nothing like what she intends for her story, but it’s written, and I’m sure someone out there will enjoy it so…I’m leaning really hard on the old adage “it’s the thought that counts”. ^.^; I hope you like your gift, Mireille. Sorry I failed to do your characters justice and butchered the plot. Please forgive my shortcomings and accept my humble enthusiasm for your universe. m(_ _)m

It was Friday night, and Marinette was freaking out about the [Mendelssohn piece](https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=17) again.

“It’s just getting worse and worse the more I practice, and that makes absolutely no sense!” she wailed in despair.

“Because you’re obsessing over it again,” Adrien replied gently, switching the phone to his other ear. “You’re psyching yourself out, Marinette. Maybe put the bow down and go do something relaxing for thirty minutes before you try again. It’ll go better when you’re not so stressed out.”

“But how can I not be stressed out?” she groaned. “My performance just sounds so…so wooden. Yes, I have gotten better, but it’s still so emotionless, playing the notes with no feeling attached. And it’s not like I can get away from this piece, Adrien. It’s a staple of the violin repertoire. _Everybody_ does this piece. It’s integral! Everyone does it, so my interpretation really has to have something special to stand out.”

“Princess, it will,” he tried to assure her over the phone, wishing she were there in the room with him so that he could just pull her into a calming hug, give her a shoulder rub. “Just give it time. You’ll get there.”

She didn’t seem to hear him as she continued her downward spiral. “ _Everyone_ has a recording. Your father has a recording, and it’s phenomenal. I used to listen to your father’s recording when I was little, Adrien, and it was _inspiring_ ,” she laughed (more a gasp for air than anything), clearly at her wit’s end. “ _My_ performance isn’t inspiring. Why would anyone come to hear me when they could hear [Ray Chen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I03Hs6dwj7E), [Hilary Hahn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPi7LrQ1rNg), [Joshua Bell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LxS1bKZ7wyQ)—though I don’t really care for his version of the [cadenza](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cadenza), but—”

“—Marinette.” He dropped the comforting tone and went straight for firm, decisive, cutting through her chaotic thoughts.

She came to an abrupt stop and blinked, thrown off balance. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you give it a rest for tonight, and we can work on it together tomorrow?” he suggested.

“Oh, Adrien. I couldn’t ask you to do that.” She let out a long sigh, sinking to the floor. “I know how busy you are with your own stuff, and you’ve already done more than enough. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’m just…you know. Freaking out like usual. Sorry for talking your ear off. _Again_.”

“Princess, you know I wouldn’t offer unless I were serious,” he reminded for what was probably the hundredth time over the duration of their friendship. “I really don’t mind. I _like_ helping you in whatever way I can, and I actually have the whole evening free tomorrow. If you want to come over, we can practice for a bit, take a break when we need to, practice a little more…”

Belatedly, he realized that inviting the girl he was trying very hard not to be in love with over to his flat for the evening was at odds with his goal of not acting on the feelings he was endeavoring not to have for her.

“Come over to your _apartment_?” she echoed incredulously.

Adrien swallowed and nodded, deciding not to backpedal. “Yeah, if you want. I figured it would be better than trying to do a marathon session in the practice rooms at school. I mean, it would be easier to take breaks here and more comfortable than those little rooms, so… Only if you want,” he hurriedly added.

The phoneline was quiet for a beat before Marinette responded eagerly. “That would be really great, Adrien! Thank you so much! …I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you,” she added, voice warm and earnest.

“Sure thing.” He forced a cheery demeanor, already thinking of all the ways being alone in a private space with her could go sideways.

His stomach flipped, half in excited anticipation, half in dread.

“Any time, Marinette. What are friends for?”

Adrien stood in the doorway, trying to absorb what he was seeing. “What’s all this?”

In addition to the white violin case strapped to her back like an albino turtle shell, she carried a medium-sized cooler and had a canvas bag hanging from the crook of her arm.

Marinette smiled sheepishly as he stepped out of the way, letting her in. “Well, you said that you were free all evening, so I brought dinner to say thank you for inviting me over and helping me out.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Marinette. I’m seriously more than happy to help,” he reiterated as he followed her into his kitchen where she set down her things on the countertop and carefully slipped the violin case off of her back, laying it gingerly beside the cooler and canvas bag.

“Oh, I know.” Marinette waved his protests away.

He watched as she unpacked a plastic container filled with salad, a glass jar of homemade dressing, a bottle of Chianti, a plastic baggie of almond cookies, and a glass casserole dish with what looked like lasagna inside.

“But, seriously,” she insisted, “it’s the least I could do, and, this way, we don’t have to go out for food or stop to make something.”

She stowed the salad and dressing in his fridge and put the Chianti in there to chill. The almond cookies stayed on the countertop, and the lasagna went into the oven set on low to keep the dish warm without drying it out.

That accomplished, she turned to him and practically leaped into his arms.

He instinctively caught her and squeezed her tight, a sense of calm washing over him with her warmth, her scent: the subtle strawberry fragrance of her shampoo mixed with the apple and magnolia of her customary perfume.

It felt too good in her arms, too comfortable, too much like where he belonged.

 _“Why have you been fighting this?”_ the hopelessly romantic part of his brain whined.

 _“You_ know _why,”_ the pragmatic, pessimistic half of his mind replied bitterly. _“To protect her. To protect_ yourself _. You’re not allowed to have this. It wouldn’t end well.”_

_“…But I’m not Mom, and Marinette isn’t Father. Maybe…”_

“I’ve missed you,” Marinette cut into Adrien’s thoughts, pulling back just enough to peer up at him.

“We see each other all the time at school,” he chuckled, giving her an easy smile, tone light and teasing, “and we just talked last night. When did you have time to miss me, Princess?”

She gave a halfhearted shrug. “Seeing each other isn’t necessarily spending time with one another. You’ve felt kind of distant lately, and we haven’t been hanging out as much.”

There was a question in her eyes that he didn’t necessarily want to deal with. There were months of mutual, unacknowledged attraction between them. He knew that the correct answer was to tell her outright that he was only interested in friendship, but…it was a lie, and it would change things between them. As much as he was afraid to ( _couldn’t_ ) take things further with her, he couldn’t stand the thought of losing anything either. He couldn’t actually just be friends.

Marinette had long ago become a staple in his life, and now he couldn’t do without her…so he’d live in this limbo as long as possible.

He pulled her back in, whispering into her hair, “Sorry. Things have been kind of busy, but I’ll make more of an effort to clear my schedule so we can hang out. Can’t have my princess feeling neglected.”

“Charmer,” she snorted, finally releasing him with a wide grin. “Thanks, though. I know you’ve got a lot going on, but it’d be nice to just get coffee more often or go to a concert every once in a while or get dinner together.”

He nodded, watching as she went back over to the canvas bag still sitting on the countertop.

“I was actually really happy that you invited me tonight.” She produced a single passionfruit macaron wrapped in cellophane with a ta-da gesture. “A token of my appreciation.”

Adrien chuckled, coming over to her side. “My favourite. But…Marinette, are you trying to incentivize me to hang out with you? I don’t need a bribe.”

“It’s not a bribe.” She airily shrugged off his suspicion, going back to digging in her bag. “It’s a reward.”

He arched an eyebrow, a lopsided smirk spreading across his lips. “Isn’t that just semantics?”

“Hush,” she jokingly admonished, pulling out a baggie of assorted [homemade hamster treats](https://www.pinterest.com/leilarinck/hamster-treat-recipe/).

Adrien’s eyes widened, particularly at the miniature hamster Pop-Tarts. He knew he shouldn’t be so surprised after all the creative stuff he’d seen this girl do over the months of their friendship, but, somehow, she just kept wowing him.

“Are those for [Émile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121214/chapters/48417106#workskin)?”

She nodded, a sheepish blush coloring her cheeks. “Did I mention that I’ve always wanted a hamster? I may have gotten a little too excited about our hamster-son and gone on a baking spree. I saw a whole bunch of fun-looking recipes online, and…” She shrugged powerlessly.

He couldn’t help but laugh at her, a warm feeling filling his chest. “You’re such a good hamster mom. Tell you what. You can play with him for ten minutes, but then we’re getting down to business.”

“[To defeat the Huns](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TVcLIfSC4OE)?” Marinette snickered.

“Worse,” Adrien informed gravely, giving her his most solemn expression. “To defeat…the [thirty-second notes](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thirty-second_note).”

Marinette pulled a face, making Adrien crack up.

“But seriously.” He elbowed her playfully. “That song is going to be stuck in my head the rest of the night.”

Marinette shrugged. “We can have Disney sing along breaks. I’ll get something else stuck in your head before too long. Just you wait.”

Oddly enough, Adrien was looking forward to that immensely.

At the two-hour mark, Marinette sighed heavily and slumped onto the piano bench next to him, sitting with her back to the keys. “I should give up,” she remarked placidly. “The notes are there. Technically, it’s good, but it has no soul. I should give up.”

“Marinette, no,” Adrien stressed, angling to face her, grabbing her hand. “Let’s take another break. You’re just tired because you’ve been pushing too hard. It’s good, and it’s going to get better. You _can’t_ give up.”

She turned to look at him, studying his face, searching. “But I don’t know what else to do. If I don’t practice more, I won’t get any better, but practicing doesn’t seem to help any either. I keep running into the same wall, and I’m getting totally burnt out on this piece.”

Adrien bit his lip. “…I wish I could make it all better for you. You’re so talented, Marinette, and I know you have a lot to give the world with your music. It’s just tough right now, but you need to keep going.”

He reached out and cupped her cheek with his free hand, stroking gently with his thumb.

Tears of frustration began to leak from her eyes as she leaned into the touch.

“You’re going to make it through this,” he promised, mentally sending her strength and patience and support. “It’s okay to rest and take a break when you need it, but don’t give up, Marinette.”

She nodded, pulling herself back together. “All right,” she sighed, giving him a resilient smile. “You’re right. I’ve hit walls before, but I’ve always made it through. I can do this.”

“That’s my girl,” he cheered, withdrawing his hands. “Just hang in there.”

“Right,” she agreed, trying to psych herself up. “I just need to keep going. Are you ready to run through the piece again, or do you need a break?” She looked at him expectantly, ready to get back to work.

Adrien pursed his lips “Actually, before we get back to playing, I wanted to ask you…what are you thinking about as you play the piece?”

Marinette blinked, thrown by the question. “I mean…just the normal things? You know. Bowing, the notes, the key signature, dynamics…those sorts of things. Why do you ask?”

Adrien nodded thoughtfully. “Just had an idea.”

Marinette’s brow scrunched. “Was that the wrong answer?”

He shook his head, rushing to reassure her. “No, not at all. You _have_ to think about those things. The technical side of the piece doesn’t just happen all by itself, and your technique is unimpeachable. I was just thinking about the emotional side of things. What emotions exactly are you trying to put into this piece?”

Marinette blinked several times as she considered her answer. “Well…there’s…I mean…passion, for one, and-and…anguish.” She paused, mentally pulling at wisps of cloud, trying to come up with the correct response. “Um…conflict at some points…but calm too? Uh…the second movement has a lot of serenity, and…maybe sadness? …Is-Is that what you mean?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Adrien began to nod again slowly as he formulated possible solutions. “You said that my father’s recording of this concerto was inspiring, right?”

“Yes,” Marinette replied enthusiastically.

“Maybe it would help if you listened to other people’s versions of the piece and picked out what makes them inspiring or interesting or particularly emotionally moving. Try to dissect what other people do that makes their interpretations special. Try to hear the story that they’re telling with the piece and then decide what _your_ version of the story is. I think it’ll be easier to get the emotions across to the audience if you have a really concrete idea of what you want to be conveying at any particular point during the piece.”

“Oh,” Marinette breathed, her face quickly reddening from rose petal pink to a dark burgundy. “Wow. Okay. That makes sense. Sorry. I feel really dumb,” she laughed, a tight, high-pitched sound. “I mean, of course I had a general idea of what I wanted to convey, but…it makes sense that the way to get emotion across is to sit down and intentionally plan out what I want to express with each part.”

“Don’t feel dumb,” Adrien reassured, resting a hand on her forearm.

“But it’s such a _duh_ thing,” she sighed, wilting. “Completely basic and obvious, and I’m such a dud that I can’t even—”

“—Hey,” he cut her off firmly before softening his voice. “Stop. It’s okay, Marinette. You’re just frazzled. I’ve been there before, and I know how hard it is to think straight when a piece has you so frustrated you just want to cry.”

“Really?” she asked hopefully, cornflower blue eyes searching his. “But…you’re so _good_. You’re a real-life prodigy, Beethoven.” She let out an ironic laugh. “I can’t imagine you hitting a wall or struggling with anything.”

A wry smile twisted on his lips. “Oh, you’d be surprised,” he chuckled. “I’m good because I’ve been practicing a lot for a very long time under the tutelage of excellent teachers, but that doesn’t mean that it’s never hard. There have been pieces that have kicked my butt until I found a way to break through, so I _can_ understand where you’re coming from.”

Slowly she began to nod. “Okay. That actually makes me feel better,” she giggled, letting some of her stress go and finding the energy to smile again. “Not that I’m glad that you struggle sometimes, but…actually, yes,” Her giggle grew into a full-bodied chortle. “I _am_ glad that you don’t just sit down at the piano and effortlessly whip out Beethoven sonatas. You’re amazing, Adrien, so I’m…I’m glad it’s not just me who has a hard time. Everyone at school is so talented, and I just feel…”

Her laughter dried up as she gave him a lost, vulnerable look.

He squeezed her arm supportively. “It’s okay.”

“Everyone is so incredibly out of my league,” she confided in a pinched whisper, “and I have to work really, really hard to keep up…but I don’t feel like I’m keeping up.”

“Oh, Princess,” he breathed, pulling her into a side hug, resting his head against hers. “You’re doing amazing. I was serious earlier when I told you you have a lot to give to the music world. It’s okay to still be growing and finding yourself musically. Don’t you ever doubt that you’re going to get there eventually. You’re already spectacular, and you’re only going to get better. Hang in there.”

She nodded, sniffling, “Thanks. And thanks for always talking me down. It means a lot, knowing that you believe in me. I respect your musical opinion a lot, and I know if you say you see something in me, in my playing, that something really is there.”

“It is,” he confirmed with conviction, willing her to believe in herself. “And you’ll see it too someday. For now, you just need to get through this piece, okay? You _can_ do it.”

She nodded again, her tears drying up. “Okay. Right.” She took a deep breath, getting her head back in the game.

“That’s my princess,” he encouraged, giving her one last squeeze before drawing back.

Marinette smiled sheepishly. “So…since you have experience hitting walls and breaking through them, maybe you can tell me how to conquer my own hurdles. Do you have any tips for me? I’m a desperate woman, so please impart your sage knowledge upon me,” she laughed, only partially joking.

He bit his lip in thought before answering. “Actually…”

Marinette perked up. “What?”

He looked back down at the piano keys as a raspberry lemonade blush spread across his cheeks.

“Come on, Agreste. Don’t hold out on me,” she urged. “If you have an idea, I’ll try it. I’ll try _anything_ ,” she laughed, throwing her pride and self-consciousness out the window.

Adrien nodded, playing an E major chord. “…Okay. My father thinks that this is childish—and maybe it is—” He grimaced but kept going because he knew that there was nothing to fear, that nothing he said would change Marinette’s opinion of him at this point. “but do you ever make up stories to go along with the pieces you play?” He cast her a sidelong glance.

Her eyebrows slid into a v of confusion. “Make up stories? What do you mean?”

Adrien’s right hand layered a shimmering run of eighth notes high in the piano’s register over the F sharp minor, B major, E major chord progression of his left hand.

“Like…okay,” he laughed, feeling a little awkward. “I know that a lot of pieces aren’t meant to symbolize anything; they’re supposed to be ‘pure music’, but…you know how a lot of Romantic era music is supposed to evoke an image or tell a story?”

His melody slowed into a moody, brooding repetition of quarter notes.

“Like…how the [Third Movement of Mahler’s First Symphony](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0z8y1K0DLdo) is based on a picture he saw of a bunch of animals doing a funeral procession for a hunter? Or how Berlioz’s [Symphonie Fantastique](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewoAW-Zyuj8) musically tells the story of a musician’s unrequited love and how it gradually drives him mad?” Marinette tried, thinking she understood. “Or Strauss’s [Death and Transfiguration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6hfQpaePuxo) telling the story of an old man dying and entering the afterlife?”

Adrien nodded encouragingly, the melody line of his improvised piece picking up again with a bit of a swing to the notes. “Yes. Exactly. But, instead of a piece where the composer explicitly states what the story behind the music is, I’m talking about hearing a piece and making up the story yourself. Have you ever done that?”

Marinette bit her lip, trying to recall. “I mean…I know I’ve listened to songs before and thought that certain parts sounded like someone running or horse hooves on cobblestone or birdsong, but…as for complete storylines, no, not really,” she confessed.

Adrien’s fingers slowed, the jazzy tune coming to a gradual end. “Maybe it would help if you did,” he tentatively suggested. “I don’t know. Maybe not, but…you could always try and see if coming up with a story helps you connect emotions with what you’re playing. Instead of just having a general idea of what you want to convey, maybe it would help if you try to use the music to illustrate a story…if that makes any sense,” he laughed sheepishly, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

“Sorry.” He turned to face her with a grimace. “I know that probably feels like really vague, unhelpful advice, but—”

“—No!” she hastened to assure. “No, I think I get it. You mean…make the piece kind of like the soundtrack for a movie, right? I just have to come up with the images to go with what I’m playing…tie it together into something concrete.”

His smile strengthened as he nodded. “Yeah. Exactly. You could definitely think of it like a movie.”

“Is this…what you do?” she asked hesitantly. “Make up stories to go with the music?”

“Yeah,” he replied, voice soft and wistful. “For as long as I can remember…. My mom used to tell me the stories.”

“Oh,” Marinette breathed, eyes widening.

Adrien didn’t talk about his mother often, but, when he did, it was always with a touch of melancholy and longing. He spoke of her fondly, and Marinette could tell that there had been a deep affection between them, that they’d had a good relationship. She was incredibly important to him, and even though she’d been gone for a long time, missing her obviously still hurt.

Marinette always paid extra close attention whenever Adrien mentioned his mother.

“When I got a little older and started studying with different instructors, they couldn’t tell me the stories, so my mom told me to listen to the music and to [let the music tell me the story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121214/chapters/48012073#workskin).” He looked back down at the keys with a yearning smile. “I don’t know if it will work for you, Marinette, but the stories always made me feel more connected to the piece.”

“What do you hear in the Mendelssohn piece?” she couldn’t help but wonder before quickly backtracking. “I mean, I know the point is for me to find my own version, but…could you tell me the story? Please?”

Adrien stared at her in surprise for a moment before a genuinely pleased smile pulled at his lips, spreading them wide. “Happily.”

Marinette stood, getting out of his way, while he flipped back to the beginning of the piece and began to play the first movement.

“This is a story about a princess,” he announced, making Marinette raise a suspicious eyebrow even as she grinned.

“Oh? A princess?” she snickered, thinking he was referring to his nickname for her. “…She doesn’t sound very happy,” Marinette observed as she listened to the [mournful melody line](https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=20).

“She’s not,” Adrien agreed, his smile fading as he fixed his eyes on the music. “She’s very sad and lonely. I mean…you can hear her [anguish](https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=67), can’t you?”

A frown settled onto Marinette’s features as she peeked over his shoulder at the notes on the score. “…Why is she sad and lonely?”

Suddenly, she was getting the impression that this story wasn’t about _her_.

“Her mother passed away,” Adrien explained in a careful, neutral tone, “and her father keeps her locked up in a tower and never visits.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed.

“She hears the sounds of other people outside her window, but she’s not allowed to go out and interact with any of them. Her father says it’s too dangerous…that princesses don’t get to go out and make friends with the commoners…that there are expectations to be met and that princesses have to act a certain way,” Adrien went on with a touch of bitterness and regret to his voice. “…They don’t see one another much, but when they do, the princess and her father [fight](https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=133).”

Marinette’s skin went cold. “That’s…awful,” she whispered. “Sad.”

“Fight isn’t exactly the right word for it,” Adrien amended as his hands continued to flow back and forth over the keys. “They disagree, and there’s tension, conflict, but the princess doesn’t fight back. She takes it and does what’s expected of her. It gets to be too much, though. She can’t be the person her father wants her to be. She can’t live with all of his rules and all of the responsibility of being a princess…so she [runs away](https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=197).”

Marinette wondered if that was how Adrien felt—like a princess in a tower—while living under his father’s thumb. He didn’t like talking about his homelife, didn’t mention his family often. She knew that Adrien was still doing what his father wanted: attending the music academy, travelling and performing, working hard on his career as a soloist… She wondered if getting his own apartment and performing at the jazz club as Chat Noir was Adrien’s version of “running away”.

“Then what?” Marinette urged as the music transitioned out of the tranquil passage and started to pick up again.

Adrien grinned, delighting in the fact that she was getting caught up in the story. “Then…she goes to the village, and, in the marketplace in the square, she meets the boy of her dreams and [falls in love](https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=256).”

Marinette’s cheeks began to glow like morganite as she mentally debated the likelihood of this part of the story being loosely autobiographical as well.

“She finds a [new family](https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=273) for herself,” Adrien informed gently, a smile in his voice as he thought of Nino, Luka, Juleka, and all of the friends he had made, the little pocket of freedom he’d won for himself. “She finds purpose and meaning and a place where she feels she belongs.”

Marinette smiled along with him, letting herself get lost in Adrien’s cheerful, fulfilled expression along with the beautiful notes coming to life at his fingertips.

“Her [heart soars](https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=299), filled with joy and contentment,” Adrien illustrated, and Marinette could hear it, _see_ the story his song was telling.

Suddenly, Adrien’s expression darkened. “Her happiness doesn’t last, though. She begins to [feel conflicted](https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=316) as she thinks of her family, her duty to them. She tries to reconcile the way she wants to live with what’s expected of her because she _loves_ her father…but she can’t necessarily be the person he wants her to be.”

Marinette’s heart ached for Adrien. She wanted to tell him that he could have it both ways, that he could still have a relationship with his father even if he didn’t follow his father’s wishes and become a professional soloist.

She wanted to sit back down on the bench beside him, wrap her arms around him, and tell him everything was going to be okay. She wanted to _make_ everything okay.

As Adrien began to play a vulnerable, raw rendition of the [cadenza](https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=428), he mused, “I’ve always thought of the cadenza as kind of like a character’s soliloquy in a play or aria in an opera. It’s a pause in the action for the character to have a moment to talk about how they feel about everything going on around them. I think this cadenza is the princess struggling internally.”

Marinette could hear it in the notes as Adrien played them: the princess’s indecision, her going back and forth, trying to decide whether to give up the happiness she had found or the family she loved, trying to think of a way to have them both. The princess’s heart wavered.

“She decides to [go back](https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=589),” Adrien announced. “She can’t desert her father, even if they don’t see eye to eye. She can’t cut him out of her life; he’s a part of her. So, she does her best and tries to make everyone happy.”

Marinette winced, knowing that there was no remotely “happy”-sounding music left in the first movement. “What happens?”

Adrien laughed mirthlessly. “She feels like she’s being [torn apart](https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=647). She can’t do it. She can’t be true to herself and do what her father wants. The pressure and stress are too much,” he informed softly, melancholically. “She makes herself sick trying.”

The soloist part went out with a [pained shriek](https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=743), and Adrien finished the last measures of the first movement using the piano accompaniment.

As the music dissipated into the stillness of the flat, Marinette stared at Adrien, tears trickling down her face.

“That’s what I hear, anyway,” Adrien chucked in embarrassment at his active imagination. “Maybe it’s a little overly dramatic, but—” He turned on the piano bench and saw the look on her face. “—Marinette, what’s the matter? Are you okay?”

He stood and reached her in two strides, using his thumb to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

She nodded, thinking that _she_ should be the one asking _him_ that. “Fine. Just… That was beautiful, Adrien.”

In that one song, in a made-up story, he had shared more with her about how he felt, what his life was really like, than he had volunteered over their months of friendship.

Adrien didn’t like to talk about his past or his family and always tried to keep conversations in the present tense, not really liking to talk about the future much either. He shared things with her and answered most questions when asked, but Marinette always felt like he was trying to keep her at arms’ length when it came to the things that really mattered.

And yet, in that performance, Marinette felt like she’d finally caught a glimpse of his inner life.

“Is the princess going to be okay, do you think?” She wanted to ask if _he_ was going to be okay, but that was the closest she could get, fearing that he’d clam up if she pressed.

He smiled conspiratorially. “I don’t know. You’re going to have to listen to the music and see for yourself how the story ends.”

Marinette pressed her lips together hard, not satisfied with his playful answer.

“All right,” she decided, rising to the challenge. She broke away from him and scooped up her violin, tucking it under her chin and raising her bow into position. “I’ll figure out the second and third movements myself, but, for now, I want to try the first movement again.”

“As my princess wishes,” Adrien assured with a wink, going back to the piano. “Ready when you are.”

Marinette attacked the piece, pouring everything she’d felt as she’d listened to Adrien’s story into the notes. She thought of Adrien growing up lonely, not allowed to play with other children, Adrien losing his mother, Adrien feeling isolated from his father, Adrien forced to pursue a career he didn’t want, making something he loved into an obligation.

When Marinette tied what she was playing to Adrien’s story and how it made her feel, the emotions she’d struggled to put into the piece before were suddenly there. She didn’t have to think about them; she could feel them viscerally, and they exploded from her strings, filling the flat with a whirlwind of feeling.

The first movement seemingly flew by in a breath. Her violin gave a painful shriek as she imagined Adrien making himself sick while trying to stay true to himself at the same time as he attempted to please his father, and so ended the soloist part of the movement.

She found herself breathing hard as Adrien wrapped up the accompanist’s part. She’d thrown her emotions into her performance, and it had taken a lot out of her.

Adrien turned to gape at Marinette. “That was _incredible_ ,” he laughed in amazement. “Maybe a little wild and intense, but…you killed it. It was wonderful, Marinette.”

She covered her mouth with a hand as she laughed incredulously. “It was, wasn’t it? That was actually really good.” She shook her head, absentmindedly wiping at tears. “Adrien, you’re a genius.”

He rolled his eyes, giving a snort. “What? _Me_? _You_ are the one who just kicked that piece’s butt.”

“Because you helped me hear the story, _feel_ the story,” she insisted, trying to give him credit.

He got up and pulled her into a hug, giving the side of her head a kiss. “Maybe it was my suggestion that helped, but _you’re_ the one who put your heart into that piece. I’m so, so proud of you, Marinette.”

She let herself sink into his embrace, savoring the feeling of his arms around her. “It was a team effort,” she allowed, pulling back to meet his gaze. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” he repeated the oft-used phrase. “I’m just happy that I could help.”

“Still.” She leaned in, giving his cheek a quick peck that made his stomach flip and his cheeks glow.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you for being happy to help. I always appreciate you sacrificing your time for me.”

“It’s not a sacrifice,” he stressed, shaking his head. “I like spending time with you, and I like helping.”

“Have you ever thought about becoming a teacher?” she inquired, the thought hitting her at random.

He blinked as they separated. “A teacher?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I think you’d be really good at it. You’re super patient, and you always know just what to say and do to bring out the best in other musicians’ playing. Your tips and suggestions help me all the time, so I thought…” She shrugged, a tentative smile coming to her lips. “You know. In case you decide that touring as a soloist isn’t what you want to do with your life.”

He hummed thoughtfully, imaging himself teaching children to play, showing them the magic of music just like his mother had shown him.

“It’s a good thought,” he conceded, smiling at the mental picture. “I think my father is pretty set on the soloist thing, though.” He laughed, playing it off as a joke.

Marinette pursed her lips, knowing that there was no point in telling Adrien that it was _his_ life to live, not his father’s. She knew that it was a complicated matter.

Instead of pressing, she changed the topic with a grin. “Well, so long as you’re happy. But I’m _starving_. I really worked up an appetite that last go round. Would you be ready for dinner?”

“Sure. Sounds good,” Adrien readily agreed, happy to let the subject drop. “I’ll get plates and silverware, if you want to grab the food.”

Marinette held up the bottle of Chianti and peered at it with an unfocused gaze. “It looks like there’s only one glass left. Halve it with me?”

“Sure,” Adrien easily consented, holding out his wine glass for a refill, even though he didn’t particularly feel like it because he knew that, if he didn’t, she would drink the rest herself, and Marinette did _not_ need to consume any more alcohol that evening.

He was already resigned to the fact that he’d be escorting her home and was toying with the idea of having her stay the night. He’d survive one night of sleeping on his couch…though he didn’t anticipate getting much sleep with Marinette one room away in his bed.

In his bed.

His tipsy brain allowed the pleasant images that thought conjured up to play for a minute before shutting that dangerous indulgence down.

“We’re not getting any more practice done tonight, are we?” Adrien realized.

Marinette giggle-snorted. “Nope, but I think tonight was the breakthrough I needed. I’ll work on it more myself, and it should be fine.”

“Yeah,” Adrien agreed, sipping at the Chianti, no longer tasting the dry, astringent tart cherry flavour. “I think you’ve got it. But, hey, even though any serious practice is out, we could always do drinking songs. Do you know any?”

She laughed a little too loudly. “Yeah, but they’re all in Italian.”

“Oh?” he chuckled and broke out into a snatch of the [brindisi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjB3fOjidT4) from Verdi’s La Traviata. “Like that one?”

Marinette shook her head. “Since when can you sing? That was good.”

“You’ve heard me sing Disney before,” Adrien pouted.

She waved him away. “Okay. There’s Disney and then there’s opera.”

“I’ll have you know that some Disney songs are technically challenging. Maybe it’s not [bel canto](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bel_canto) [coloratura](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coloratura), but [Let it Go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnN6glKaWdE) and [Into the Unknown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gIOyB9ZXn8s) are both difficult pieces,” he protested.

Marinette raised her hands in a placating gesture, relenting. “Okay. Fair.”

“So what are your Italian drinking songs?” he pressed.

She shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no. The ones I know aren’t suitable for mixed company. I learned them from my grandma, and they are incredibly vulgar.”

Adrien burst out laughing at the thought of Marinette singing lewd drinking songs in Italian. “Afraid of offending my delicate sensibilities?” he snickered.

She shrugged, downing half her glass of wine. “No offence, but you are a sheltered rich boy.”

“Point,” he conceded. “But it’s probably not as easy to shock me as you think. I _have_ been exposed to debauchery these past three years at the academy.”

She hummed skeptically in response.

“So which grandmother is this who teaches you raunchy Italian drinking songs?” he couldn’t help but wonder.

“Mami Gina, my dad’s mom,” Marinette chuckled fondly. “She’s Italian, listens to [Pink Floyd](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pink_Floyd), has travelled extensively, and loves motorcycles. She’s wild. Tons of fun. The lasagna is actually her family’s recipe.” She nodded to the remains of the lasagna in the casserole dish between them.

“She sounds cool,” Adrien decided. “I’ll have to give her my compliments sometime for the lasagna.”

Marinette tried not to get too excited at Adrien’s implication that he would be meeting her extended family at some point.

She downed the rest of her drink and started clearing the table.

Adrien opened his mouth to stop her, but she cut him off.

“—Don’t give me that nonsense about guests not doing dishes. I helped make them; I can help clean them up,” she informed matter-of-factly.

“But you cooked,” Adrien feebly argued, beginning to help her with transferring the dishes over to the sink to rinse before loading into the dishwasher.

“And _you_ helped me work through my musical mental block,” she returned with determination. “Shut up and let me help with dishes.”

“As my princess wishes.” Adrien gave up, grabbing the extra almond cookies still on the serving plate and bringing them over to the counter to put back into their plastic baggie for storage. “So, whom do I have to thank for the cookie recipe?”

“Ah, that would be from my mom’s side,” Marinette replied, putting the lid back on the casserole dish holding the wreckage of the lasagna and sticking it in the fridge. “The sweet and sour salad dressing is a family recipe too.”

“I’ll have to let her know that I enjoyed them the next time I drop by the bakery,” Adrien chuckled, putting their plates into the dishwasher. “And that her daughter is an excellent cook.”

“Oh, please.” Marinette let out a startled laugh, taken aback. “It was just pasta, salad, and cookies.”

“And it was delicious,” he insisted. “Seriously. Thanks for dinner.”

Marinette almost protested again, but, at the last minute, decided just to take the compliment. “You’re very welcome.”

“We should do this again sometime. Maybe cook together?” he suggested, the words out of his mouth before he had time to think that having Marinette over again was not going to make it any easier to not act on his feelings for her.

“Yeah,” Marinette agreed, a broad smile coming to her face. “That sounds fun. I’d really like that. We’ll have to look at our schedules and see if we can find a time that works.”

“Sure. Maybe next week sometime.” He nodded eagerly, not yet ready to regret the prospect of Marinette in his kitchen once more.

As they continued to clean up, they fell into a comfortable silence only broken several minutes later by Marinette.

“Wanna hear a secret?” she asked tentatively as she watched Adrien take a damp cloth and wipe down the table.

He looked up and cocked an eyebrow. “What kind of secret?”

She shrugged. “It’s not, like, a huge secret or anything, but…it’s sort of important. It’s always bothered me.”

His brow furrowed. “If you want to tell me, you can.”

She grinned, letting out an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know Chinese. I can’t speak Mandarin. I mean, I’ve learned some phrases over the years from relatives, but, if you dropped me in the middle of Beijing, I’d be in trouble. My tones are awful; you can hardly understand what I’m trying to say. It would have been easier if I had learned when I was little, but…”

“Your mom didn’t teach you?” He set down the cloth and came over to lean on the counter beside her.

She shook her head. “She had a hard time growing up. Even though she’s French, she looks Asian, so… People are bigoted jerks. Even my grandpa, my dad’s dad…” She shook her head again. “He’s very old-fashioned and didn’t approve of a mixed-race marriage. He and my father didn’t speak for twenty years after my parents got married.”

Adrien winced. “I…I am so sorry. That _sucks_.”

Marinette nodded, putting her elbows down on the counter with a sigh and resting her cheeks in her hands. “Yeah. It really does, so I guess I understand where Maman was coming from. She loves her heritage, but she never really shared it with me. …It bothers me. I feel like I’m missing out.”

“It’s not too late to learn,” Adrien encouraged, gently bumping her shoulder with his. “I know we just missed New Years, but there are plenty of Chinese cultural festivals throughout the rest of the year. We could go to some…do some research, talk to your relatives, learn more about your heritage. I could even work on conversational Chinese with you.”

She turned to stare at him, limpid eyes roving his face, taking him in. “How are you so sweet all the time?” she wondered.

“What are friends for?” The usual phrase rolled off his tongue before he could think too hard about it. “You said it was something that really bothered you, so…I want to help.”

“I’ve never had such a helpful friend before,” she chuckled, lips pulling into a fond smile. “Thank you. That would probably help, honestly, because what really bothers me is feeling like such an imposter. I may look Chinese on the outside, but, on the inside, I feel like I’m just a French girl trying to be something I’m not. It’s just like with violin.”

“What do you mean?” Adrien urged her to elaborate, not understanding what seemed like a sudden shift in the conversation to him.

She sighed. “It’s like what I was saying earlier about feeling like I have to work extra hard to keep up with everyone else. I don’t feel like a real violinist.”

“But you _are_ a real violinist,” he countered, puzzled.

She shrugged and shook her head. “But I don’t _feel_ like one. I mean, I play, but…it feels like a fluke. I don’t know how I got into this school, why I’ve been blessed with all these opportunities. I don’t feel like I deserve it because I’m…I’m not good enough.” She grimaced and laughed spitefully at herself. “Sorry. I know that probably doesn’t make any sense. Ignore me. I’m just whining. I’m sorry, Adrien.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he cooed, reaching out to stroke her cheek gently with his knuckle.

Her eyes flew wide in surprise, catching on his soft, warm gaze.

“It’s okay, Marinette,” he assured. “I kind of do get it, I think. I mean, I’ve felt not good enough before. And you’re _not_ whining,” he stressed. “First and foremost, I’m your friend, and that means it’s okay to talk to me about these kinds of things. Feeling not good enough and like you don’t deserve things…that’s just you being too self-critical. You’re insecure, and you’re doubting yourself. That’s all it is because—trust me—you belong at the academy.”

“Yeah?” she chuckled weakly, tears building in her voice.

“Absolutely.” He bumped his shoulder against hers again. “You are amazingly talented, and you work harder than anyone I know. The point of going to school for something isn’t to start out perfect. You’re there to learn and grow, and you’re the type of person who’s really going to bloom over the next three years. I know it. You’re where you’re supposed to be doing what you’re supposed to be doing. Just keep the course and kick that negative voice in your head that tells you you’re not good enough to the curb because it’s dead wrong.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, dropping her head to the side onto his shoulder. “Seriously, Adrien. For everything. I can’t tell you how much I needed…” She laughed at the enormity of it all. “…every single thing you’ve done for me today. Sorry that you’ve had to spend your Saturday night comforting me and building up my crumby self-esteem.”

“Not at all,” he answered with a light kiss pressed to her silky black hair. “It’s my job to be there to give you a boost when you need it. You’d do the same for me, so don’t worry about it. I’ve got your back,” he promised, resisting the urge to pull her in and hold her, to kiss it better.

She turned her head to nuzzle his shoulder, oblivious to his less-than-platonic thoughts. “You have no clue how much I appreciate you,” she sighed.

“The feeling’s mutual,” he breathed, letting a little bit too much emotion leak into the words.

They stood like that for a minute or two, letting the comfortable moment sink in.

Finally, Marinette raised her head and looked at him expectantly, their faces only a handspan apart.

“So…serious practice and raunchy Italian drinking songs are out, but…do you want to watch a movie while we sober up?” she suggested with a grin that make his heart do a backflip.

“Uh…sure,” he agreed.

She went to the canvas bag that she had brought with her, still sitting on the countertop, and produced a stack of DVDs.

It was then that Adrien began to suspect that Marinette had come over with the intent to get them both tipsy and watch rom coms.

Part of him was terrified of where this was going; another part was eager to find out.

“You should tell me a secret,” Marinette decided, flopping down on Adrien’s bed.

As Adrien hooked his laptop up to the TV, he made a mental note to move the 4K curved monitor out of the bedroom so as to avoid further instances of Marinette rolling around on his bed should they ever do movie night again.

“I can’t really think of one,” he lied.

The truth was that Adrien had so many secrets that it was hard to choose.

He could tell her about what it was _really_ like having Gabriel Agreste, her violinist idol, as a father…any number of things about his mother and her death…something about playing at the jazz club as Chat Noir…the mysterious singer Coccinelle and whatever it was that was going on between them, if anything…

…Maybe even tell her how he felt like a ticking bomb without a timer, never quite sure if or when he might explode.

He wondered what she would do, what she would say, if she knew about his mother’s illness…that it was hereditary.

Would she still want him? Or would she quickly lose interest as soon as she found out he came with such heavy baggage?

He was afraid of the answer.

Surreptitiously, he rolled his ankle and wiggled his toes, hyperaware of the tingling sensation slowly creeping up his leg, wondering if the paralysis were psychosomatic or real this time…if it would keep progressing, if it would be permanent…

“I can’t think of anything,” he repeated with a cheery smile, coming over to sit on the bed beside her. “What would you want to know?”

Marinette propped herself up on her elbows and studied him intently. “…What…are you most afraid of?”

He could have said anything, really. Thunderstorms still caused undue anxiety. He was afraid of being trapped, the walls closing in on him. He was scared of being alone, feeling isolated.

There was just enough alcohol in his system to loosen his lips and allow the truth to slip out:

“I’m afraid of letting people down,” he confessed in a small voice that almost got lost in the too-big room, swallowed up by the fluffy duvet and thick curtains. “I’m afraid of disappointing them…not being the person they think I am…the person I led them to believe I was.”

He let out a quiet laugh with jagged edges as he looked away. “I’m scared of tricking someone into getting close only to drag them into my problems, drag them down with me.”

“That’s not how it works,” she informed, sitting up and resting a firm hand on his upper arm.

He blinked, turning to stare at her in surprise.

“When two people love each other—either platonically or romantically,” she explained, “there is no ‘dragging someone into your problems’. _Your_ problems are your _friends’_ problems, Adrien.”

 _“She wouldn’t say that if she knew,”_ a bitter voice in the back of his mind whispered.

“Friends gladly help each other out. They _choose_ to. It’s part of being friends. Isn’t that what you’re telling me all the time?” she chuckled, finally able to shoot the “that’s what friends are for” line back at him.

“It’s just like you helping me with the Mendelssohn,” she insisted, giving him an encouraging smile that made him want to cry.

 _“This is nothing like helping you with a piece,”_ he mentally argued, refusing to let down his walls for her sake as well as his own.

“Whatever your problems are, Adrien,” she continued resolutely, “if someone really loved you, they’d happily face whatever you were dealing with with you. They’d stand by your side,” she asserted.

Slowly, sadly, he shook his head. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew my secret, Marinette. No one would stand beside me. I couldn’t _ask_ anyone to.”

Her hand flew out to catch his, squeezing it tightly, refusing to let go.

“Try me,” she challenged, a fiery determination burning in her gaze.

His eyes widened, her vehemence taking him aback.

“You don’t have to ask me,” she laughed softly, warmth and affection flowing into her voice. “I’ll stand with you regardless.”

His breath caught in his throat, resulting in a sharp gasp.

His lips parted, mouth dropping open in astonishment.

“No matter what you’re fighting, Adrien Agreste, I love you,” she whispered, and his resolve shattered.

He met her halfway, eagerly drinking enduring love and unconditional acceptance, things he thought he’d never have, from her lips.

Adrien wasn’t his mother, Marinette wasn’t his father, and maybe things would turn out differently for them.

Maybe Adrien could tell her everything without fear of losing her and being left to his isolated existence once more. Maybe Marinette would stay by his side through everything and keep loving him.

Maybe he should give her the chance. Maybe he should trust her.

Because one thing was certain as they melted into kiss after kiss after kiss: Adrien could no longer deny that he was deliriously in love with this girl, and, more than anything, he wanted her to prove him wrong, to prove to him that there was never anything to fear in the first place.

“I love you too,” he gasped between kisses, letting go, opening his heart, and letting her in.

The

End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, guys! I hope you enjoyed it. Did you have a favourite part or a favourite line? This was a fun challenge. I hope it was fun to read.
> 
> Random Notes:  
> About the title: A [deceptive cadence](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fX3-u51W1tk) doesn't resolve the way one expects it to. Since this story takes a drastically different turn than what Mireille probably plans for her story, I thought the title was fitting.
> 
> I think the fastest note that the soloist plays in the Mendelssohn concerto is a thirty-second note. The score that I’m looking at isn’t the best, but I skimmed through it, and I didn’t spot any sixth-fourth notes.
> 
> It should be noted that Marinette in this AU would probably not be so eager to sing Disney songs for fear of exposing her secret identity as Coccinelle, a singer at the jazz club where Adrien plays piano under the alias of Chat Noir.
> 
> I don’t actually know much about jazz. ^.^; I had to look up jazz chord progressions and just went with something really simple for the part where Adrien is improvising as he talks about finding the story in a piece. The piece Marinette is playing is in E minor, so I had Adrien do something in E major. I read that a super basic jazz chord progression is two, five, one, so…it’s nothing fancy. Just something for Adrien to do with his hands. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, don’t worry about it.
> 
> The drinking age in France is eighteen.
> 
> Gina’s t-shirt is a parody of Pink Floyd’s album cover The Dark Side of the Moon. I know this because Pink Floyd is my father’s favourite band, and he has the same shirt. ^.^
> 
> Things Mireille Came Up With That I Used:  
> In Mireille’s AU, Marinette is canonically struggling to find her expressive voice as a violinist and infuse her pieces with emotion. I think I made the problem bigger than it is in “canon” and had Marinette freak out more like she does in the show. Mireille’s Marinette seems a lot calmer and levelheaded than Marinette from the show. This could be because Marinette is nineteen in the AU and has had several years to calm down and mature.
> 
> The violin case looking like a turtle shell. I added “albino” because the case is white, so…
> 
> Marinette’s perfume being apple and magnolia, but I take about one percent of the credit for this because Mireille originally wrote that Marinette’s perfume was “floral” until I badgered her to specify what kind of floral. ^w^
> 
> I don’t think Mireille has specified what Marinette’s shampoo smells like in this AU, but I headcanon Marinette’s shampoo as strawberry, and I know Mireille has used strawberry for Marinette’s shampoo in a different work of hers, so I’m just going to assume that this is a shared stable headcanon.
> 
> The macaron wrapped in cellophane is a Mireille thing too.
> 
> Adrien "canonically" owns a hamster named Émile of whom Marinette has agreed to be the mother.
> 
> Beethoven is Marinette’s nickname for Adrien.
> 
> For those interested, you can find Mireille's Music AU/Jazz Club Timeline Master Post [here](https://mireilletan.tumblr.com/post/189841048900/r%C3%AAveries-passions-music-au).
> 
> Come follow me on [Tumblr](https://mikauzoran.tumblr.com/).
> 
> References:  
> Mendelssohn Violin Concerto: https://youtu.be/tT1qhGP1qSs?t=17  
> Ray Chen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I03Hs6dwj7E  
> Hilary Hahn: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPi7LrQ1rNg  
> Joshua Bell: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LxS1bKZ7wyQ  
> Cadenza: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cadenza  
> Homemade Hamster Treats: https://www.pinterest.com/leilarinck/hamster-treat-recipe/  
> Émile the Hamster: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121214/chapters/48417106#workskin  
> Be a Man: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TVcLIfSC4OE  
> Thirty-Second Note: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thirty-second_note  
> Mahler Symphony No. 1 Third Movement: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0z8y1K0DLdo  
> Berlioz Symphonie Fantastique: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewoAW-Zyuj8  
> Strauss Death and Transfiguration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6hfQpaePuxo  
> “The story will tell itself”: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121214/chapters/48012073#workskin  
> La Traviata Brindisi: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjB3fOjidT4  
> Bel Canto: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bel_canto  
> Coloratura: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coloratura  
> Let it Go: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnN6glKaWdE  
> Into the Unknown: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gIOyB9ZXn8s  
> Pink Floyd: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pink_Floyd


End file.
